My body finally breaking down is its way of telling me that I have had enough, that I need to stop obssessing over work that doesn’t mean much to anyone else. To be a chronic worrier hurts so bad from all the sleepless nights and days of attempting to quell the feeling, which exacerbated it, on the contrary. I was actually doing more just so I’d not be deemed as not having put in enough. Surely I didn’t want the latter to happen, hence I took it the hard way, realising too belatedly that putting myself through all that, was what killed.
But don’t you disappoint (wait, were there even expectations.), don’t you screw up because how often do you get a project this significant to you? Still, it’s my own damned fault for not having figured where to draw the line at, and how little or how much is sufficient. Guess only experience can back you up with wiser and more valid decisions.
I feel every ounce of energy has been drained (or expelled radically through this terrible coughing fit that’s been on for days) and I’m left hanging by a thread, not the least concerned about how the last 3 weeks came to be. They say hate the game, not the players. Finish what you started.
Truth be told, what an awfully miserable time. Can’t turn back now – just do it.
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But was it worthwhile?
